Voices Of The Past

• Paris Hoey, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2009

He sat in the hollow darkness of the room, alone. His heavy eyes fixated on the object which lay directly in front of him, disguised by a dark shadow. The depth of his eyes revealed his perplexity, yet his face showed no emotion.
The room was cold and stark, and only remnants of its past grandeur remained. Large cracks ran along the wallpaper; revealing the damp, crumbling plaster beneath. The indentation of furniture was stamped into the musty carpet, marring it forever.
Sam heard water dripping but he remained motionless. He was able to dismiss the noises of the decrepit room, yet he could not ignore the voices of his past…

I hear the velvety-smooth, reassuring voice of my mother. I see her: her crooked smile…her brown locks. But her image is fading…
I hear the sirens. I see the flashing lights. I cannot escape from these visions, forever plastered across my mind.
But then the more persistent, domineering voice returns.
“You useless piece of crap!”
The voice echoes through my head, bruising me with sudden pain. I wince. Each memory had its own story, yet they were all a secret; a secret from the outside world, a secret that only two people knew.
His deep, resonant voice makes me sink deeper into the black pool of my nightmares…

***

I cringe. The sound of heavy footsteps breaks the short mist of freedom, sending shivers down every crevice of my body. I prepare myself for what is about to come.
My heart misses a beat as silence prevails…but then, it all starts again. The door swings open and a thick gust of alcohol enters the room. It is all too familiar.
It is not worth turning around, there is no way I can escape. All I can do is sit and wait.
A shadow approaches and hovers over me like an eagle eying its prey. Simultaneously, a chilling breeze enters through the western window of the room. Winter. It was a season that could not be shirked. Therefore I cocoon myself in the grey, woollen blanket to protect me from the chill.
I decide to play the game as usual. I guess he’s had 9 this time…perhaps even 10. These mind games help me pass the time.
He says something. Yet, it eludes me.
Whack. A sound like a hammer hitting a brick wall echoes through my ear. My right cheek burns.
I run. I run as fast as I can, out the front door, down the street…leaving him behind. I stop. These fleeting moments of freedom, always come to an abrupt end. My body numbs as I am overcome by a warm sensation.
The trickling of warm liquid down my forehead convinces me of my reality. I slowly register each of my senses and notice blood seeping through the white of my t-shirt.
Anger wells inside of me. I reach out for the arms of my mother, but there is no one to save me.
***

I extend my left arm, placing it in the depths of the shadow. I can feel it right beneath my hand. I run my fingers along its cool exterior, following the contours. Its beautiful physique dazzles me.
I curl my index finger and gently pull back.
Bang!

The clouds part and the sun’s warm glow radiates the blue sky, framing a perfect picture. Light seeps through the window and brightens the room.
His treasured cap gun shines luminously.